This is How a Heart Breaks
by CalamityJim
Summary: Sam's found a solution to the apocalypse that Dean isn't willing to live with. AU, slight spoilers for seasons 4&5. Finished!
1. Chapter 1

AN-this is AU, not a death fic and a twoshot. Second part not yet written. Rated for bad words and mature scenes.

* * *

The sunset was glorious.

Vivid scarlets and deep purples were caught by the clouds, like ink on cotton, even as the sun's fingers withdrew its gentle caress to plunge the world once again into icy darkness.

Sam watched with awe even as the growing cold seeped into his bones. He made no attempt to shake it off, though, and instead stretched his long limbs out, letting his the night air settle around him like a cloak of novocaine. For the first time since the start of the end of the world he smiled.

He was going to fix everything.

It was the least he could, Sam mused under the sleepy gaze of the stars. His very presence had brought nothing joyous to the world. No, where he walked death and ashes followed him, and were destined to keep following him. He almost expected that he'd leave nothing but dust where he numbly lay, as though the world was poisoned by his very touch.

Then again, it probably was.

It had been the appearance of Lucifer in his motel room dressed as his dead girlfriend that had spurred Sam onto his current quest. Nothing said, "you can't ignore the problem" like Satan showing up with a sunny smile and an "I've been waiting for you" speech.

It was that moment that had crystallized everything, answered all the "whys". Why had Jessica died? Why had Dean gone to Hell? Why did bad things happen?

But it had also cut through the ever-pressing darkness to show Sam what he needed to do.

He hadn't gone back to Dean. How could he have? His brother already hated him, rightfully so, but knowing that his little Sammy was the anti-Christ would have broken the few parts of Dean that Sam's fuckwittery hadn't been able to touch.

So Sam had to do it on his own.

The first thing he had tried had been a bullet to the head. Simple and to the point. Even Sam couldn't fuck that up.

But when he opened his eyes to a stain spattered wall he had been forced to reevaluate his options.

So he tried everything. Guns and knives, pills and poison. He'd stabbed himself in the heart with a bronze dagger covered in lamb's blood and set himself on fire using Holy Oil. And every time he had woken up to find himself healthy and whole.

But Sam was nothing if not stubborn. He let out a little snort, the noise breaking the still silence. It was probably his greatest flaw as a human being, besides, well, being evil and all that.

But this time he had made it work for him.

Unbelievable it had been Chuck who had provided Sam with the answers. He had been on the site, reading the latest updates to make sure that Dean was still okay, still alive and himself, when he stumbled onto a forum of fans, all asking stupid questions that didn't really matter. He had been about to close the window with disgust when he had spotted the question.

"Why don't they use the colt?"

He'd had to go out and buy the books again. And he'd had to read them, to relive every stupid and pathetic thing he had done since Stanford, before he had stumbled across what they were talking about. About how it wasn't gone.

And everything clicked.

Getting the gun back had been tricky. Demons didn't fight fair.

Then again, neither did Sam.

Sam made his way to his feet with a heavy sigh. He wished that Dean could have been here to watch the stars with him on his lat night on earth. He wished that he had a bit more time. He wished he was going to heaven.

Sam wished a lot of things.

He pulled the out the Colt, admiring the gleam of salvation in the pale moonlight. Too bad it wasn't his salvation.

He ran a hand along the side of the barrel before bringing it to his chin, the soft whisper of metal caress his skin with an icy kiss.

It was as good a time as any to die.

His finger slipped over the trigger.

"Sam." The familiar voice cut through the air like a whip and Sam paused, giving Castiel enough time to step in close, two fingers kissing Sam's brow and sending the hunter spiraling into a different kind of darkness.

x—x-x—x

Noise ripped through the shitty motel room as half a bottle of Jim Bean exploded against the wall, glass and sin peppering the room. Dean screamed at the mess before his fist flew to the spot where the bottle had impacted, his hand punching a hole though the drywall as though it was made of wet tissue.

He pulled his hand out and gripped his hair as his body folded over in a vain attempt to protect his heart. The one that had stopped beating minutes ago.

It had been Chuck who had set off the violent reaction. Dean had almost deleted the email when he saw it. He would have if the subject hadn't been "Where's your brother?" Truth was, he didn't know where Sammy was. At the time he hadn't even cared. As long as Sam was away it had been okay. And then he had opened the email.

There had been no message. Only an attachment that had turned out to be part of Chuck's latest manuscript. Dean snorted as he read about his latest demon escapades, skipping down closer to the bottom until he caught his brother's name.

Then Dean was screaming for Cas.

The angel had come swiftly, appearing in the room with his usual frown, obviously annoyed that Dean had interrupted his search for God. The frown had flowed from annoyed to concerned as Dean tried to explain, tried to make Cas understand, but found he couldn't breath because his heart had stopped. It had stopped and he was still moving and nothing made sense.

Castiel had narrowed his eyes as Dean had desperately shoved the laptop into the angel's hands. Blues eyes had widened before the angel had disappeared in a ruffle of feathers while the laptop crashed to the floor.

But that had been an infinity ago.

Dean screamed into his knees, rocking himself violently as he did the only thing he could and the one thing he hated most; he waited.

And then Cas was there. But all Dean saw was the unconscious figured slumped against the angel's body.

"Is he…?" Dean trailed off. He couldn't ask it, couldn't say it. He wouldn't survive it.

Cas crouched down, guiding Sam's body to the floor. And once again Cas lifted Dean from Hell. "He is alive."

Arms snaked around Sammy, pulling him from the angel's grasp. Dean buried his head in his baby brother's neck and sobbed into Sam's pulse. Both their frames shuddered with the movement as Dean's heart finally gave a beat.


	2. Chapter 2

AN-Sorry about the wait. I wrote this chapter 3 times. The first copy actually turned out to be way too funny which is a really weird problem to have when trying a hurt/comfort. So I hope you guys like this. I'd like to thank my reviewers (both of you XD). I'm glad the first chap made you cry. That was kinda the goal. This one isn't that good, but I can't make it better.

So here's the conclusion.

* * *

Sam's chest rose.

Then fell.

"Dean."

Then rose.

"Dean."

Then fell.

"Dean!"

"What?" Dean whispered. He didn't glance away from his brother, as though he could will Sam to continue breathing.

"What are you planning to do about Samuel?"

Dean stared at Sam, his hand coming to rest on his brother's chest, right over his heart. "He looks so peaceful like this, just like he did when was a kid, back before he knew about all this stuff. About hunting. After he found out he was never the same. He was always having nightmares, always watching his closet door with those wide eyes of his.

"I remember he was convinced he had a monster in his closet. Poor kid went and told dad. Of course dad knew there was no monster. He'd swept the house before moving us in. He always did. But he didn't tell Sammy that." Dean snorted. "Oh no. Dad gave Sammy a gun.

"Sammy was horrified. I can still see him, standing in my doorway hold out this .45 like it was gonna bite him. He walked up to me and held the gun out to me, like I could make it all better. So I took the thing and slid it under my pillow. Then I flipped open the blanket and he crawled in like the squirt he was.

"That was how it was. Sammy would come. He wouldn't say anything. He'd just stand there and watch me, waiting for me to flip open the covers." Dean finally turned his head, his eyes shiny in agony. "Why did he stop coming to me, Cas? I'm his big brother. I'm supposed to take care of this. Why didn't he tell me?"

The angel cocked his head, considering. "Perhaps he was waiting for you to lift the covers."

A single tear ran down Dean's face, unnoticed by the man as his fingers clenched at the fabric above his brother's heart.

x—x-x—x

Sam woke up feeling warm and safe.

Which was strange. He was fairly certain that he had been cold earlier. That deep, bone seated cold that can only be shaken off with a shower or chased away with whiskey. And he knew that he hadn't been to the bar. He'd been avoiding the dives hunters usually frequented mostly because hunters usually frequented them.

But the feeling of safe was even stranger. He hadn't felt that way since Stanford. Since Jessica. It was a soft feeling, much like a giant blanket on a snowy evening. Sam knew he didn't have time to indulge in it though. There was something he was supposed to be doing. He had work. It was important. He should go.

Fuck it.

Sam snuggled himself deeper under the blanket, indulging in warmth.

x—x-x—x

Familiar grungy beats broke the air. They didn't bother Sam. Somewhere in his sleeping brain he found them soothing, familiar. However, the noise caused the warmth to pull away and that was simply unacceptable.

Sam made a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat.

Dean ran his hand through his brother's hair, quieting the sleeping figure. Sam murmured something before his head slumped back to one side. Still rubbing his brother's hair, Dean flipped open the phone.

"Hey."

"Dean!" The hunter pulled the phone from his ear as Bobby's voice barked through. "You need to find Sam now! I don't care what problem you have with the boy but if you don't find him-" Bobby's voice cut off, and if Dean didn't know any better he would have sworn that Bobby's voice _hitched_.

It was bizarre, even for the apocalypse. "…Bobby?"

"Dammit Dean! Why are you still on the phone? Go. Find. Sam! Or make your pet angel do it! Quit wasting time you fucking idjit!"

"Dude, chill! He's here."

"There."

"That's right."

"As in with you."

"Yu huh."

There was a beat of silence. "Alive?"

Dean's hand stilled in his brother's chocolate mane. "Yeah, Bobby." His thumb began to swirl around Sammy's temple.

On the other end Bobby puffed out a breath, letting his head fall to rest on his kitchen table. "How?"

"Chuck." Dean hated the scrawny author, but if the man had asked him right then he would have gladly given the dude permission to start publishing again. Hell, Chuck could probably have survived asking for the Impala at that particular second. But it was unlikely that the prophet had emailed Bobby. "You?"

"Your brother mailed me his damn notes. I only skimmed mine before calling you. There's also one here for you and one for that angel buddy of yours." There was the sound of shuffling on the other end.

Dean closed his eyes. He should have figured that Sam would have been this thorough. Damn his stupid geeky brother. "Bobby, I don't know how to make his right. Sammy's been-" Dean swallowed, unable to voice what Sam had been doing, "Sammy's been at it for months now. Woulda worked if the devil himself wasn't on Sam's tail." Dean opened his eyes to stare at Sam's sleeping profile. "How am I supposed to fix this?"

"Idjit," Bobby snorted into the phone. "At this point? Any way you can."

x—x-x—x

Sam stared at the stain motel roof, picking out faces and dinosaurs amongst the shadowed yellow splotches as he lay on a lumpy mattress. It was a far cry from the star sprinkled sky and the lush grass bed he had been lying in earlier. "Why didn't you let me die?"

"Well, aren't you just a little ray of sunshine?"

Sam twisted his head, his eyes zeroing on the last person he had expected to see. "Dean?"

His brother was setting on a parallel bed, his legs spread so that he could lean forward as he loosely rested his elbows on his knees. His hands, instead of dangling loose in the gap, were instead folded over each other as though protecting something precious. He was wearing his usual garb, including his worn in leather jacket and his standard black shirt. The circles under his eyes seemed to have faded slightly, despite the shit storm that Sam had started. It looked as though the time he had spent away from his brother had helped heal the wounded animal stance that Dean had carried himself with since leaving hell.

Dean flashed his patented cocky grin. "You don't know anyone else this handsome."

The response was so typically pre Hell Dean that Sam couldn't help himself. "Christo."

Dean frowned. "Thanks," he snarled sarcastically. "It's nice to see you to." He leaned forward, pretending to ignore Sam's flinch. "And no, I'm not a shifter, or a thought-form, or any other handsome-yet-obviously-not-me creature that your geeky little brain could think of."

Instead of looking reassured Sammy's face collapsed into an unfamiliar expression of blankness that gave Dean chills before Sam titled his face away from his brother. "The answer's still no."

Dean leaned back, bewildered. "Dude, I haven't asked you anything."

Instead of responding verbally Sammy rolled, tilting his body away from Dean as he slightly curled in on himself the way teenaged Sam used to after having a fight with Dad.

But Dad wasn't here and this Sam hadn't been a teenager for a long time.

"Seriously Sam. What the hell? Ignoring me isn't going to make me go away."

It was simply amazing how small Sam could make himself. But it was also terrifying that he felt he had to.

"Sammy?" Dean moved off of the bed, towards his brother. He cautiously placed hand on Sammy's shoulder.

"Don't touch me!" Sam screamed, twisting and striking out with his fists, forcing Dean back. Sam scrambled back on the bed, pressing his against the headboard. "You have no right! You aren't him! Don't touch me!" Sammy's head fell, resting on his knees as his arms snaked around, creating a shield between Sam and the rest of the room. "You aren't him."

"Not who, Sammy?" Dean asked cautiously as he crept across bed, trying to figure out just what was going on in his brother's freaky head. He'd expected that Sam would wake up and that they'd scream at each other for a bit, maybe have a bit of a chick flick, and then fall back into yelling. Not whatever 'this' was.

"Not Dean," Sam murmured. "You aren't Dean."

Dean's eyes widened. "Why the hell can't I be Dean?" he grumbled, affronted.

"He hates me."

Dean's mouth turned to dust. "Sammy…"

"It's my fault. I screwed up. I let you out and now Dean hates me, but you know that." Heat crept into Sam's voice and he finally lifted his head. "So quit pretending to be him. Be Dad, or even Jessica again, but please, just quit pretending to be him." Tears leaked down Sam's cheeks before he reburied his head in his gangly limbs.

But he wasn't the only one crying. Dean could feel the moisture on his own face and for oneself he couldn't care if they were a sign of weakness or something else. It didn't matter. He thought Dean was Lucifer. And if the bastard had been making house calls wearing familiar faces it was no wonder Sam was looking for an out.

Christ. He'd left Sammy to the mercy of _Lucifer_.

Dean was going to be sick.

He'd have to do that later though. "Sammy," he whispered, ignoring how broken his voice sounded. "Sammy, I don't hate you." He pushed aside the heartache when he saw Sammy feebly shake his head and reach out his arms, pulling his brother into a hug. Sam's shaking increased as he pulled back, soft protests falling form his lips like the soft babbling of a brook, but Dean just pulled him in closer. "I don't hate you, Sammy."

And then Sam was collapsing into Dean's embrace, allowing the illusion of his brother to hold him up as he poured out his pain through the hot drops running down his face.

Dean buried his nose in his brother's hair, whispering gently in Sammy's ear with his own tear-choked voice, "It's me, Sammy. It's me. I'm gonna fix this. I promise. It's me, kiddo. It's Dean. I've gotcha, Sammy."

"Dean, is everything well?"

Dean looked up to see Cas standing at the door, the usually unflappable angel looking rather flapped at the sight before him.

He snorted. "What does it look like?"

"It looks like you and Sam are rather distressed."

Before Dean could fire off an acerbic retort at the fallen angel he felt his brother shift in his arms as Sam lifted his head, his hazel eyes wide. "Cas?"

Castiel gave his head a somber nod.

Sam twisted, pulling away as much as Dean would let him so that he could get a better look at his brother. "Dean?"

"Really me, Sammy."

Instead of looking relieved Sam paled. "Oh God. You know." Sam tried to pull back, out of Dean's embrace. "I'm sorry. I'm going to fix it. I'm going to make it right. I'm sorry, Dean. I didn't want you to know. I'm sorry."

"Dammit Sam!" Dean snarled as he struggled to keep a grip on his brother. Much to his shock Sam instantly stilled, hanging his head in defeat.

When his voice emerged it was lost and alone. "Why did you stop me?"

"Because you're my brother, Sammy."

Sam scoffed. "Dean, I'm the antichrist."

"And I'm sorry you didn't feel like you could tell me." Dean closed his eyes, his fingers dancing through Sam's hair. "I'm sorry I left you alone. I shouldn't have. I was just so scared and I was angry. We were so far apart. And it wasn't your fault. Well," Dean amended, "It wasn't completely your fault. Running around with the hell bitch wasn't a bright move, but I wasn't exactly running on all cylinders as it was, and the birdbrains were all douches. Except you, Cas. We had angels playing us and demons playing us and I lashed out at you.

"God, Sammy," Dean felt more tears run down his face and a small part of his brain wondered if Sam was going to notice the snot in his hair. "I _never_ hated you. I was mad and screwed up, but you're still my brother. We're still family. And I'm never letting you go anywhere by yourself again because you always end up doing something stupid."

"Dean," Sam spoke softly, trying to comfort his brother, "If I don't the world is going to end."

"Then let it end!" He had meant it when he said it to Bobby, and he meant it now. "Let the damn thing burn. I don't care about the apocalypse. I care about my brother. Let Michael and Lucifer have their hissy fit. It doesn't matter to me as long as you're _here_. And you're going to be because we're going to fix this together. We will find another way or we will watch the world burn. But whatever we will do we will do it together."

"Dean-"

"You shoot yourself with the Colt and I'll be right behind you."

Sam gave a short bark of broken laughter. "I was going to say you're getting boogers in my hair."

Dean grunted. "I don't know what you are talking about."

"Sam is quite correct, Dean. You are expelling mucus into his hair."

"Cas, you're supposed to be on my side." He reached around Sam, firing a pillow at the heavenly messenger.

Cas watched it hit the floor with disinterest.

Sam gave a little laugh and Dean held his brother tight.

It wasn't perfect. The world was still ending. Sam was going to try and convince Dean that suicide really was the best option. Bobby was going to holler at them both. And there was still all the damage that lay between them since Dean's return from hell.

But as Dean clutched at his brother in a shoddy motel room in the middle of nowhere he couldn't help but feel like maybe things could get better. That what had happened in the room tonight wasn't an ending.

It was a beginning.


End file.
